


Sore Hands

by fandomshere_fandomsthere



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: F/M, Finger Sucking, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8233124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomshere_fandomsthere/pseuds/fandomshere_fandomsthere
Summary: Ross has been animating all day and can barely move his fingers. Nothing a little hand massage won't fix.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Siren_Of_Old for this. Take my sin.

            Ross saves his work and closes the animation program, satisfied with the work he’d done. It had taken all day, but he’d finally managed to animate some storyboards for Gameoverse that he’d been wanting to get to for quite some time now. The show was coming along nicely. Ross can’t wait to get the first episode fully animated and uploaded. At the moment, however, the only thing he’s worried about is his aching hands. He had only taken a few breaks, and his hands are sorer than they’ve been in a few months. He curls and uncurls his fingers, wincing at their stiffness.

            “You okay?” you ask just as you’re about to sit down at your desk, coffee in hand.

            “My hands are just really sore,” Ross replies. “I’ve been animating stuff for Gameoverse all day and I didn’t really take a lot of breaks.”

            “Well, whose fault is that?” you tease, earning a playful glare. You laugh and roll over to Ross in your desk chair. “C’mere. Give me your hand.”

            “Why?” Ross asks as he does it anyway.

            “So I can give you a hand massage,” you reply, firmly pressing your thumb into Ross’ palm while moving it in slow circles. His eyes slide closed of their own accord, and he lets out a little sigh. The corners of your mouth twitch into a small smile.

            “Hey, why are you here so late?” Ross mumbles.

            “I’m behind on editing,” you say. Ross hums, his head tilting back slightly as you move from his palm to his fingers, working out the tight muscles using your thumb and index finger. You watch him with curiosity. You know that hand massages feel good, and that you’re good at giving them, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone react quite like this. There’s a light dusting of pink on Ross’ cheeks, and his mouth is curled into a small, blissful smile. An idea formulates in your mind, a smirk spreading across your face. You tuck it away, saving it for later. Right now you’re actually focused on making sure his hands don’t cramp up.

            “Are you secretly a masseuse?” Ross asks when you rub firm circles into his wrist. He hadn’t even known it was tight until you had given attention to it.

            “You’ve discovered my secret. Now I have to kill you,” you say seriously.

            Ross chuckles a little breathlessly. “Least I’ll die happy,” he mumbles. You blush a little at that. You get to work on his other hand, despite the fact that it’s not his dominant one. He doesn’t argue, and you go through the same process, working the muscles of his hand and wrist. Your gaze shifts from his hand to his face as you bring his fingers to your lips.

            As soon as he feels the slightly chapped skin on the pads of his fingers, Ross lists his head up, the pink on his cheeks darkened to red, his eyes a little wider than normal. You look up at him through your eyelashes. He rubs his thumb across your bottom lip, eliciting a pleased hum from you, and his blush darkens further. You take hold of his hand again, your half-lidded eyes staring into his, and slowly run your tongue up the underside of his index finger. Ross shivers, his pupils dilating. The tip of his finger enters your mouth, and he groans.

            You swirl your tongue around the tip, lightly sucking as you bring his finger further into your mouth. You’re still rubbing circles into his palm with your thumb, and judging by his flushed face and partially closed eyes, Ross is thoroughly enjoying himself. The pad of his thumb brushes against your cheek when you reach the base of his finger, the others ghosting across your jaw. You slowly draw your head back until his finger comes out of your mouth with a wet sucking noise.

            Before he can catch his breath, you’re giving Ross’ middle finger the same treatment. He growls, the sound coming from a deep place in the back of his throat, and a shiver runs down your spine. You gasp as he leans forward and plants a hot, wet kiss on your neck, and he frees his hand from your mouth to place both on your hips, pulling you into his lap. You moan quietly, his fingers digging into your hips and his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh of your throat. You gasp, his name spilling from your lips and your hands sliding into his hair when his teeth sink into your shoulder, your shirt tugged to the side for easier access.

            “Fuck,” Ross pants, resting his forehead on your shoulder. You shift in his lap and he bites his lip, a strangled sound sticking in his throat. You move again, experimental, and he lets out a shuddering breath, cursing. He looks up at you, pupils blown wide and panting, and you feel a burning low in your belly, the hardness against your thigh only increasing it.

            “How far behind are you, exactly?” Ross asks, voice low and husky.

            “Nothing I can’t make up for tomorrow,” you respond.

            The two of you practically run out the door.


End file.
